Phoenix Rises Part 1: Free Enslavement
by Wyrdchoice
Summary: When Alice's grandfather perishes, she is forced to live with her closest relative, the wife of a deatheater. Starts in the middle of Harry's fifth year.


DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything that has to do with Harry Potter, weasels, ferrets, or the state of Virginia. Or most anything else, for that matter. I do, however, own the plot and the characters of my own creation, which include John Mundy, Cheryl Cartwright, Herb Waldon, Alice, Radix, etc. Have a wonderifically demented day.  
  
WARNING: If you have not read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and wish to find out what happens by reading the book, please do not read this Fan fiction. If you are an idiot and wish to know what happens in the end before you start reading... please, carry on!  
  
A/N: This is the first of many shameful, pathetic, and utterly boring excuses for stories that I will torture you with by forcing you to read! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA! Ahem! Anyway, I know it sucks, so no need to tell me that.  
By the way, I like oxymorons. They cooooool.  
- Iris  
  
  
  


Phoenix Rises Part One: Free Enslavement  
Prologue  
  
  
The blood that spills  
And bone that chills  
A crying face   
That leaves a trace  
Of loved one's darkened plight  
  
Oh, what to do?   
What action will life take?  
Do not, for your sake  
Take first reason's truth:  
It is his undoing forsooth.  


  
  
Dark, snickering beings dashed from the open door, their frozen hearts appeased of their grotesque hunger for death. Dismal blackness seemed to envelop the victorian mansion they had left, surrounding only the hill it was perched upon.   
  
Time had cared for this home as rain does to a painting; the brilliant colors and people it had once flaunted were now in the past. Even in the fast receding daylight, one could tell it was not even a tenth of its former self.  
  
The wind moaned in through a broken window on the second floor, as if death's rattling breath was creeping through the empty rooms of the decrepit manor. The drapes looked like ghosts as they energetically swished through the air. Between them, quivering, sat a small figure, rocking back and forth, back and forth.  
**  
**Every once in a while, the shaking shadow's sobs and sniffles would mingle with the howling of wind and the rolling thunder outside, its clouds drawn, curiously, toward destruction.  
**  
**The true goal of the weather, however, was realized when it finally covered the ugly blemish in the heavens, the icon of evil. A glowing tattoo that desecrated the celestial heavens, the latter being beautiful no more. The dark mark.  
  
It began to rain, flashes of lightning streaking upon the floor of the once cozy room. The girl curled even tighter next to the window, her tears threatening to erupt again. In the shadows, next to the fireplace filled with dying embers, was a victorian chair. In the armchair was a man, his head slumped over into his lap with blackish gray hair covering his face, hands touching ground he could not feel. He was dead.  
  
A jet black owl fluttered through the window into the room, breaking the stillness. It nudged the girl, trying to make her move, but she pushed it away. It tried again, and the girl almost pushed the owl off the windowsill.  
  
The girl heaved herself up onto her knees, turning to look out the window. Why did these things always happen to her? She'd rather have died a long time ago then be forced to witness something as terrible as this. She breathed in shakily, as if she were a balloon being inflated, and if too much air was pushed in at once, she would pop. She hated her emotions. they betrayed her when she needed to be most strong. If only she hadn't been so stricken with terror... if only she could have...  
  
Looking up with pale orbs of eyes, the little owl's hopes were crushed when he saw the look on his master's face. He began to inch away to the other side of the windowsill, suddenly afraid.  
  
A tear escaped one of her eyes as she stared unseeingly into the rain. It traveled down her face, gathering speed as it ran into the many raindrops sprinkled on her cheek. It reached her trembling lip, which frowned into a painful grimace. Her breaths turned into gasps, and the balloon of feelings exploded. Her face screwed up in agony, she screamed raggedly, screamed out her pain, her sadness, her grief. Trying so hard to push it away. She clutched the windowsill, knuckles white, staring at the blackened clouds, forever tainted. The owl was almost knocked off of his perch next to her when she jerked around, dropping her tear streaked face into her hands and crying louder than ever.  
  
Suddenly, she stopped. There was no sound but the pounding rain and the soft croons of her owl. Using the cuff of her plaid shirt, the girl wiped the tears off her face. She stood up, closing her red, puffy eyes for a moment. When she opened them, her face was devoid of any emotion. Emotion is weakness.  
  
Without looking back, she stepped past her grandfather's body and passed the door, its hinges broken from the recent intrusion. The owl followed silently behind her. When she reached the doorway, she held out a finger for her bird to perch upon. Ever so slowly, she stuck her head out and looked both ways. Once she was sure the coast was clear, she stepped out and went left.  
  
Alice traipsed down the hallway until she came to a large painting at the end. It was of a grassy meadow with some long-branched trees surrounding it. An orange tabby cat was in the foreground, cowering like an ostridge, tail in the air, head between its paws. It would have been laughable but for the night's events. At the girl's approach it chanced opening one eye.  
  
The cat slowly lifted her head, looking down the hallway fearfully. Are those dreadful creatures gone? Are you all right? I thought I saw a flash of light coming from my master's study, she whispered, looking as if she would sprint out of the picture if she saw the slightest bit of movement down the hallway.  
  
They killed Grandpa, Alice replied, in a carefully controlled voice. The cat looked aghast. They were... death eaters, She spat out the name with cold hatred. The rumors about Voldemort were true. At this, the feline puffed up into a ball and backed away. Alice didn't normally say Voldemort's name in front of others, but she was long past the point of caring about such trivial things.  
  
Not Alphard! Oh, please tell me you jest! She covered her head with her paws again, howling. Not Alphard! No! I'd rather be ripped to shreds than to live longer than he! Clouds began to gather in the painted sky, and it soon began to rain, imitating the real storm outside. Then the cat froze, and slowly lifted its head up, its eyes wide with sudden shock. How could they have known? How- how did they know we were here? They can't of- master said they didn't know- She looked around wildly, as if the answer was hidden somewhere in the painting.  
  
Alice's eyebrows knitted in confusion. They didn't know what? And don't talk in riddles, Harlequin, now isn't the time. What had her grandfather not told her? Why had - they - killed him in the first place? And why had they left her alive? Hundreds of questions like these floated around in her head, until they clanged together in one huge jumble.   
  
Harlequin hesitated, indecision on her features. She had been forbidden to tell Alphard's granddaughter of the happenings that had forced him to travel to the Americas, that had forced him to realize the true intentions of their family...  
  
But just as the cat opened her mouth to speak, an scarily loud shattering sound blasted from the main entrance into the manor, which had remained unused because of the winding steps up to the front door (her grandfather had had arthritis). Harlequin jumped so high she disappeared from the picture. After looking fearfully behind her, Alice placed her hands on the right side of the picture frame and pulled. It swung open, revealing a round hole large enough for a man to crawl through. Alice hopped through it into her room and ran to her bedside table, on which lay a cedar wand. Stowing in the chest pocket of her baggy flannel shirt, she went back into the hallway, and proceeded slowly towards the stairs, trying to remember where all the cracks in the floor were so she wouldn't step on them.  
  
The pair of spiraling stairs were like a balcony looking over the large entry room. There was one on either side of the cavernous place, and a golden chandelier between them, long-unused cobwebs hanging down from it. Alice entered from a hallway right next to one of the large staircases, and crept up to the banister, trying to sneak a look at the intruders below.   
  
She could hardly see anything down below, the only light being the flashes of lightning outside, but she could definitely hear them. They seemed to be making no effort to be quiet. In fact, they seemed to be talking about rather normal things, as if they were going out for coffee in the morning. She strained her ears to listen over the squeaking of someone's boots.  
  
Weird weather we're having, eh? said a gruff voice. It's December, and we're having a thunderstorm instead of a blizzard. Dang it, where did I stick that stupid wand? his voice echoed. There was a ruffling sound. As the lightning flashed, she could see three figures next to the front door, which they had left ajar: A thin figure, that looked as if it were wearing slacks, slowly getting up, having tripped over a huge ornamental pot, a potbellied man had stopped right next to the door, and a hunched over figure, who was about five feet from the thin person, was rummaging in a bag. Alice suspected this was the speaker, as the flash of light left as fast as it came.  
  
Ah, here it is. Lumos, he muttered, bringing a five foot radius around him alight with his glowing wand. The man was wearing a ratty turquoise windbreaker that looked like it had barely survived the paper shredder. He had short, brown hair, a mustache, and a five-o-clock shadow. The backpack he had been reaching into was on the ground next to him. A broom was clutched in hand, and the other, which had the wand, he held aloft. The man reminded Alice of a homeless man she had passed on the street once.  
  
The thin person backed away from him angrily. a woman's voice said urgently, What d'you think you're doing? You saw just as well as I did that sign in the sky on our way here! What if... You-Know-Who's in here or something? We could all be killed! At this, Alice moved closer to them, crouching on the first step. Why were these people here? If they weren't in league with Voldemort, what was their reason for breaking into her grandfather's manor?  
  
Relax, Cartwright, said the fat man, lighting his wand also and walking over to John, That crap about the Dark Lord's return is bull, you know that. This is probably just another prank. He gestured up toward the dirty chandelier. I don't think anybody even lives here. You'd think they would clean every once and a while. The man had at least two chins, but Alice couldn't tell through his thick black beard. He was very short, maybe five feet tall, and balding on the top. This man held a broomstick also, but how it held him up, she had no idea.  
  
He sighed. It's such a shame the spell for the dark mark leaked out. Then we wouldn't be sent to so many false crime scenes.   
  
the woman murmured, so low that no one could hear, any day's a bad day when ol' Herb the donut glurb has to move from his couch. She picked a piece of porcelain from her boot, and, grumbling about how this would probably be the death of them, lit her wand also. Cartwright looked about in her twenties, with short, dishwater blond hair and beady brown eyes. Her nose was so small it almost wasn't there, and her chin poked out almost like the point of a pencil, but rounder. She was very pale and very tall, five and a half feet tall at the very least. She wore a white polo shirt, which she had buttoned up all the way, and a thick navy blue rain jacket was tied around her waist. Her broom was strapped across her back like a samurai sword.  
  
There's a good girl, Cheryl! John patted Cartwright on the back, but she pushed him away. Both the men started laughing.  
  
The woman was positively fuming. We are on the job in a crime scene, for cripe's sake! Will you guys behave just once?? We've probably alerted their presence ten times over by now! She stomped off toward the stairs, dust coming up in her wake. Wait a minute... She looked down at the ground. There were several footprints in the dust, leading up the stairs she had been about to climb. I think the people who made the Dark Mark were actually here... either that or someone lives here...  
  
Nobody lives here, the ground wouldn't be dusty at all, said John, passing her and walking up the stairs. The light of his wand inched nearer and nearer to Alice's hiding place.  
  
Well, it was now or never. Alice decided not to attack them, but to ask why they were here. _Please be policemen,_ she begged, as she got up and slowly stood up, shaking. John's feeble light stopped on Alice's feet. He shouted, as Cartwright ran up behind him and pointed her wand at Alice.  
  
But before she could finish her sentence, the woman yelled, and all went black.  
  
A/N: I know this is really short, but it's the longest thing I've actually written and liked (pathetic, huh?). Please review so I can improve my writing skills! ...And so I'll write another chapter... The only reason I'm doing this is for constructive criticism.   
  
  



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